


A Second Chance

by shadow_prince



Series: R/S 24 hour challenges [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First War with Voldemort, Fix-It, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Get Together, Guilt, Guy Fawkes Night, M/M, No Dialogue, Non-Explicit Sex, R/S 24 Hour Challenge, Smut, no one dies, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_prince/pseuds/shadow_prince
Summary: Cradling a ceramic goblet in his hands, filled to the brim with shimmering but untouched enchanted punch, Sirius Black stood unnaturally still. He stared unblinking at the burning effigy deep within the fire, even more grotesque as it twisted and charred, he was certain it would join the list of nightmares that haunted the rare hours he tried to sleep. The Dark Lord had been enough to see in drawings and photos at Order meetings. More than enough when he saw him in person. But somehow, even now with the knowledge he was gone, this soot stained version still sent a chill down his spine.





	A Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the R/S discord challenge
> 
> Prompt:  
> Bonfire Night (Guy Fawkes Night)  
> Include any/all of these words: smoke, soot, burning wood, toffee apples, effigy, treacle toffee, carved turnips, fireworks, Catherine Wheels, enchanted punch, ash and embers

_November 5th, 1980._

 

Muggles across the United Kingdom celebrated their Guy Fawkes Night, unaware of the magical community taking up the traditions with an ironic twist.

Just outside of Hogsmeade, an opening had been trampled and cleared, making way for a massive bonfire. The burning wood was piled higher than a grown man, with flames practically licking the ink black sky as crackling and popping filled the night with living sound.

Cradling a ceramic goblet in his hands, filled to the brim with shimmering but untouched enchanted punch, Sirius Black stood unnaturally still. He stared unblinking at the burning effigy deep within the fire, even more grotesque as it twisted and charred, he was certain it would join the list of nightmares that haunted the rare hours he tried to sleep. The Dark Lord had been enough to see in drawings and photos at Order meetings. More than enough when he saw him in person. But somehow, even now with the knowledge he was gone, this soot stained version still sent a chill down his spine.

It had hardly been five days since Voldemort had been defeated, at the hands of James Potter and himself no less. Five days seemed simultaneously ages ago and seconds. Both too long and too short, but regardless, the reality that the war was over had yet to sink in. He had barely been granted a moment of peace and quiet to be alone and process, but now, standing deep in the shadows of a tree, too far away to feel the warmth of the roaring bonfire, he realised perhaps he should be grateful for that.

Close to the fire and surrounded by people, James had his arm protectively around Lily, while she cradled baby Harry. Sirius doubted she had set him down since the 31st, but to hand him off to James while she showered. Perhaps not even then. Voices rose and fell, but steadily grew more confident, more sure, more relaxed. The fear that had bubbled for years thrown into the flames to be incinerated to mere ash among the embers.

Sirius sighed, finally raising the goblet to his lips and taking a tentative sip. Warm apple cider, cranberries, and Ogden’s Finest washed over his tongue. He closed his eyes, holding the liquid in his mouth and enjoying the flavours, before finally swallowing it down. 

From the rising and receding waves of voices, Sirius heard Dumbledore’s, easily locating the old wizard where he was reassuring a group of concerned looking witches about the continued steps the Order was taking to round up the last of the Death Eaters. Several of them kept shooting glances full of accusation and mistrust at the young man hovering in Dumbledore’s shadow.

_Regulus_

He was tugging at his sleeves uncomfortably. A fidget that had long since been beaten out him by their mother, but returned now full force. No doubt in constant acute awareness of the mark burned on his forearm. Of all the thoughts Sirius hadn’t worked through yet, his brother was the most difficult. When he had burst through the door to Sirius’ flat in the pouring rain, Sirius hadn’t reached for his wand, just swung his fist. Regulus hadn’t even tried to dodge it. The firelight now flickered across his face, occasionally illuminating the black and blue bruise painted across his jaw.

Sirius had simultaneously wanted to believe his brother, and been unwilling to. It was too easy of a trap, to obvious a choice, sending Regulus to him. 

_Remus isn’t the traitor._

Sirius had swung again, lips pulled back snarling. But he would never be more glad for anything in his life that his brother had won him over. 

_You’re not Potter’s secret keeper. Everyone thinks you are, but you’re not. Peter Pettigrew is, and he’s told him. He’s not after James, he’s after Harry, Sirius. We have to go, please, believe me!_

Flames climbed higher into the night, sparks flying as more logs were thrown on, but Sirius shivered, remembering flying through the cold October air, Regulus clinging to his waist on the back of the motorbike. They had landed near where he knew the Potter’s house to be, but shouldn’t have been able to see. Yet there it was. Flowers planted in the garden just as he remembered.

They had triumphed. Because of Regulus, Harry was fine. But still Sirius’ head swam with _what if, what if, what if._ He took another swallow of punch to burn away the cold thoughts.

While there were numerous truths he repeated to himself, pushing through the swamp of uncertainty to solidify them in his brain, there was one he had left untouched. One who was stepping off the cobblestoned roads of the town and accepting a goblet of punch and a treacle tart toffee from Marlene McKinnon and popping it in his mouth. 

Once upon a time, he had thought they were about to be together. That he and Remus had stood on the precipice of so much more, that they would fall over. With adolescent confidence, he had believed they were a guarantee and that it was unnecessary for him to give voice to his feelings. But with savage precision the war had torn them apart. He didn’t learn until after that the rumors surrounding Remus’ questionable loyalty had been planted with him in mind. That someone had known or guessed his feelings for his best friend and twisted them into a wedge, driving them apart. The loss had left him weak, less of a person, not the fighter he had been, and without the dedication to the war he had once had. It was no wonder Peter had so successfully played his part of rat.

The crowd around the Potter’s easily parted until Remus could kiss the top of Lily’s head, run a finger down Harry’s nose, and James could pull him into an embrace, their foreheads pressed together. When they pulled back, James kept his hands on Remus’ shoulders, leaning down to whisper something to him. Remus looked up, eyes scanning the fringes, locating Sirius with uncanny ability and a flash of his amber eyes that he wasn’t sure whether or not he had imagined.

Leaves crunched under his worn brown leather boots as he approached Sirius, joining him in surveying the gathering laid out before them. Neither said a word, the only movement when one would lift their goblet to their lips for another sip, until hesitantly, Remus slipped his hand into Sirius’. It should have felt foreign, yet all Sirius could find himself aware of was just how many times before they had done this, and how many more times he still wanted to. The time between last and now was inconsequential.

Giving his hand a light squeeze, Remus led them through the trees and Sirius quickly realised where they were headed. Dropping his hand to withdraw his wand, he dismissed the wards around the Shrieking Shack to allow them to pass, before reaching for Sirius again and drawing him through the creaking front door. The stairs groaned under their weight as they ascended to the bedroom that Remus had spent so many years transforming in. Where Padfoot had curled up next to him, fur and heat pressed against his naked skin as they waited for moonrise.

Standing, hands still conjoined, they studied one another silently without being able actually look at one another properly. Sirius noted the fresh scar cutting through Remus’ copper stubble, nearly touching his lip and jutting down across his angular jaw. Fresh waves of guilt coursed through him that he should have been there two weeks ago. He should never have believed it could have been Remus, that he had any reason to not be by his side for the moon.

Swallowing down the remainder of the enchanted punch in one go, he placed the empty goblet on the windowsill beside them, watching the way Remus’ throat worked as he did the same. Sirius stepped closer, their eyes meeting briefly before both looked away. Moving slowly to give him time to pull away, to stop him, to prove there was some other reason he brought Sirius here, he ran his finger over the fresh cut, before replacing his finger with his lips. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

He memorised the new mark before move on to others, lips brushing over the ones he knew and the ones he didn’t. Remus trembled, his other hand coming up to his lower back, pulling Sirius closer and tilting his head up. Glancing up briefly, Sirius saw his eyes were closed, grateful to not feel the weight of that amber gaze on him for the moment. The brush of his lips turned to purposeful presses, slow moving kisses creating constellations of the lines on the body that led him through the night, his guiding beacon. Even beaten and disowned and homeless, he had never been as displaced as in those months without Remus to light his sky and guide him home.

Beneath his palms he felt the moment Remus set fire to the walls they had built, stoked the embers with the turn of his head, slotting their lips together. They were soft, so much softer than he had ever imagined and made more so by the cracks in his own, but Remus didn’t seem to mind, drawing him closer and holding him together.

Sliding his hands beneath Remus’ sweater, Sirius swallowed the other’s moan, tasting the sweetness of toffee apples on his tongue while tentative touches ghosted over the line of hair leading down his stomach, turning into flat palms mapping the expanses of skin he knew by heart and by sight but always denied by touch. They took their time in removing one layer at a time, tracing every scar inside and out with a reverence bestowed by time and distance.

He lay on his back and Remus finally met his eyes. The weight of hands around his wrists or even a body bind would have been less effective in pinning him in place. He couldn’t find the words _I trust you,_ but he could tilt his head back, bared his neck the way Padfoot did to the wolf on nights he needed to be reassured of his place as alpha of the pack. A sigh whooshed from Remus’ lungs and he leaned down, placing tender kisses up the column of his neck as he pressed into Sirius.

Sirius gasped, mouth falling open and eyes slipping shut, gripping Remus’ arms blindly when he felt him start to pull back. He pulled him close and drew him in, not caring about the needy whimpering noises he was vaguely aware of making. The only thing important was Remus, around and within him, putting all the pieces of him back together and holding them in place. He paused when he was fully sheathed in Sirius, who opened his eyes to beg him to _move._ Before he could manage to so much as whisper _Moony,_ Remus’ mouth was covering his again, tongue circling his and tracing the roof of his mouth as he drew out and thrust back in.

He gripped the sheets, torn cotton fisted in his hands until Remus circled his wrist lightly, pulling his arm arm up, threading their fingers together as he pinned them above his head, following suit with the other. Sirius finally felt grounded. For the first time in years he was safe, he was here, in this moment, grey eyes wide as Remus pulled back from kissing him to study his face. The other’s usually impenetrable guard was down, and Sirius could see all of his own emotions reflected back by his best friend. Every _I’m sorry, I should have known, I should have trusted you, I’m drowning in guilt,_ was there, but slowly they became less all encompassing and consuming as _I love you_ grew brighter, chasing away the shadows like the bonfire outside.

As the flames soared higher Remus slowed his pace. It should have brought Sirius away from the edge, but instead, the torturous pace fanned the crackling beneath his skin. He was gasping and twisting, chasing the feeling frantically. Remus covered his mouth with his own as his hand wrapped around Sirius, stroking him in tandem with the slow rocking inside him. Fireworks exploded outside the windows, throwing Remus into a stunning silhouette illuminated by reds and whites as Sirius crested, spilling over Remus’ hand and sighing in solace as Remus filled him, trembling and falling apart above him.

Withdrawing, Remus curled up against his side, head on his chest as both men continued to shiver and gasp from after shocks. They watched the fireworks and traded lazy kisses. Sirius threaded his fingers in Remus’ hair, enjoying the way the curls wrapped around each one and smelled of smoke and ash. It would be years before he smelled amortentia by chance, unsurprised when he was greeted by burning fire; a second chance.


End file.
